Poems and other small tales
by wolf dem0n
Summary: I'm trying to start a poem thingy where i can just shove bits of things into a little story book! PLEASE REVIEW! p and i hate poetry but i just couldn't help it!
1. Leading the other cheek

**WOLFIE AGAIIIIN! Dispite how much I dislike poetry, I can't help but write it! Here is a little one about a small frustration, har har :p**

**Please review!**

**With honey bunches of luv.**

**Wolfie**

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Turning the other cheek

_I met you on a mid-summers night,_

_How the tale will tell itself._

_For you,_

_Nor anyone one will take this feeling from me._

_I have such as right,_

_As you do yourself._

_Laugh, giggle, a fight may be waiting._

_Taunts such as,_

_'Turn the other cheek' you say to me! In such mockery you give me pride,_

_For steering someone in the mistaken bearing will cost you dearly._

_Hush, for there is nothing for you to do now._

_'tis in the past,' and soon you shan't be in the future._


	2. How it is in my mind brad

**This is a very short poem that I wrote, and you'll need a bit of a translation, aha! Here it is:**

**_First part: When I didn't want to say anything, he chose me. So, I'm going to kill him. He talks to me, and I think he loves me, but he does not say, for he already as a woman._ (its very un...un vocabuly (--made up word) ahaha)**

**_Second part: and when she says 'my god!'_**

**I was inspired by a little annoyance. Funny how life works, eh? Haha please enjoy, and do review!!**

**Mussh luv, **

**wolfie**

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How it is in my mind, bs_(its a persons name im not B.Sing you :p)_

_Quand je voulu ne dire rien, il m'a choisi. Alors, je vais le tuer. Il me parle, et je crois qu'il m'aime, mais il ne veut pas dire parce qu'il a déjà une femme._

_Hence he tries, yet fails again. Mortality is nothing, nevertheless everything; so to keep the soul sealed is difficult. She feels the need to voice, et quand elle dit 'mon dieu!—'"_

_However, then she pays for it._


	3. The man who drank his death

**This poem/fable thingy was made with the insparation of jean de la fountain/my father -heart-/Edgar Allen Poe. I hope you enjoy and this is dedicated to my daddy! I LOVE YOU LOTSS!!**

**Much love to all,**

**wolfie**

**p.s(REVIEW!!)**

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The man who drank his death

It was one foggy night I sat at the bar, my beloved drinking and my mind chaotic.

"It was once my mother said to me, 'what would you like to be when you grow up?' And when I replied she groaned. I had asked her what was wrong and that is when she answered me. 'Your father,' said she her brow set with worry, 'he wanted to be the same thing'" My adored grunted in coherency.

"Yes" he says "'tis true, indeed I wanted to be an author." When I asked why he chuckles,

"I enjoy the idea of making money when I feel like working" In turn, it is my right to laugh.

"You want for the wrong reasons" said I, pausing to wipe the access wine that dripped from his jaw.

"So, you'd like to be an author?"

"Undeniably"

_He laughs in my face, the alcohol fresh on his breath. _

_He who has no base for his family,_

_He who has abandoned his wife and children for his own passion for drinking,_

_He who has spent his fresh Pay-check,_

_On a flute of perfectly cased wine _

Late that night, I took my darling home and sat him down at the rusted table of his hotel room. I left him in the den, searching the kitchen for a pencil. Soon, I sat beside him, pencil and paper in my hands. The following moments were quick, and passed within seconds… subsequently

There I bowed,

My hand on his and,

My lips on his cold forehead

"Here you have written your great novel, the novel of your life shall send you to hell. One who has chosen his life drenched in whisky need not walk the earth. For here you have scrawled you final act, and 'tis here I shall burry you." I dismantled him limb by limb, leaving his head for last. As the final light dimmed from his dilated eyes, I reread the message that he had scribbled on the note paper.

"_This is my life_" It wrote, as all four corners of the note were dipped in crimson wine. I lifted the floor boards of the hotel room, and shoved him underneath his grave. In my concluding good bye I wrote on the downside of the beam made of wood.

'_Here I lay,_

_Alone in the dark,_

_My only friend is,_

_The Liquor in my tomb'_

With that, I threw the crystal fluke in the hole, and sealed it shut.


	4. Pocket Mouse

**-SINGS- WOLFIE AGAIN!! Woah, i must be bodling up feelings p har har har...no. This is a random poem about boys who cheat**

**love you all! AND REVIEW!!**

**wolfie**

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Pocket mouse

Stuff,

Shove,

Hide,

Then weep.

I am not your little pocket mouse;

Some worthless thing to hide from your 'prize',

Yet how can I still love you?

A client with a perfect act should not be able use me!

Fight as I might,

I feel weak inside.

Yet I am strong enough to rough this out.

So be it,

Let the rains come,

Oh and p.s,

I'm done (heart)


End file.
